Seed No Evil (4 page)

“Our wedding was my number six,” I said, and threw my arms around him for a hard squeeze. “You're the best, Salvare. It's no wonder I'm madly in love with you.”

He opened the car door for me. “So let's figure out our plan of attack.”

“Wait a minute. I just said I'm madly in love with you. That was your cue to chime in with something along those lines.”

“I'm a man of action, Sunshine, not a man of words.”

I knew that, I thought, as I got into the car, but it didn't stop me from pouting just a little.

“Hey.” He propped his elbows on the open window. “If you can't wait for the action, how about a little preview?” He leaned in and pressed his lips just below my ear.

I shivered in delight. “That'll work.”

Marco went around the car and slid in behind the wheel. “What do you say we plan our strategy back at my place?”

“That'll work even better.”

Marco's phone buzzed, so he answered it with a snappy “Salvare here.”

He listened for a minute, then whispered to me, “It's Rafe. We've got a problem at the bar.”

There went the plan.

“Okay, Rafe, keep me posted. I'll be just a phone call away.” Marco hung up and slid his phone back into his pocket, worry lines between his eyes now. I was beginning to think an epidemic was afoot.

“What is it, Marco?”

“Nothing. Now, back to our plan of attack. Here's what I'm thinking . . . or wait. Let's see how good you are at the PI business. Tell me what you'd do.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, forcing my brain back into work mode. “First, I'd find out the cause of death. Then, if the death is labeled a homicide, I'd try to get the particulars on how Bev died.”

“Because?”

“Because that could indicate whether the murder was premeditated and give a clue about the person who's responsible.”

“Good. And then?”

“Hold on. I'm thinking. Okay, I'd interview the staff at the animal shelter to see what I could find out.”

“As far as?”

“Means, motive, and opportunity for each of them.”

“Who else?”

“Next we turn to the family, especially the sister, Stacy.”

“And then?”

I had to think for a minute. “Chairman of the Board Dayton Blaine.”

“Okay, and there's one more major avenue we should look into.”

“I've got nothing.”

“Sure you do. What was Bev Powers infamous for?”

“Suing people. So we should see if she's got any current suits in progress.”

“With what stipulation?”

“It has to be someone with access to the animal shelter. I'll get a list of volunteers from my mom.”

Marco lifted his hand to give me a high five. “You've come a long way, baby, from that very first case we worked on together. So what do we do tomorrow morning?”

“Talk to our buddy on the force, Sergeant Reilly, to find out the cause of death. You'll make that call, right? He thinks I'm too nosy for his own good.”

“Which you are, and that nosiness makes you a better PI.”

“It helps that I have my very own private tutor. But do me a favor and point that out to Reilly when you talk to him.”

Marco turned into my apartment complex's parking lot and pulled into a visitor's space. Turning off the motor, he said, “Let's get upstairs. Class is about to begin, and I'm not talking about detective work.”

Tuesday

I
woke in the morning to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and toast. In the kitchen, I found my roommate, Nikki, sitting down at the counter to eat, while her white cat, Simon, was underneath the counter chowing down his breakfast of canned tuna.

“Hey, big boy,” I said, crouching to scratch him behind the ears. Simon stopped swallowing long enough to give me a
Can't you see I'm busy?
glance, twitch his tail, then resume eating.

“You're fickle, Simon. If Nikki wasn't here, you'd be winding around my legs begging for food.”

Simon ignored me. I knew it was temporary. Tomorrow morning he'd be back.

“'Morning, Nik,” I said on my way to the fridge. “What are you doing up so early?”

“I have to take my car to the mechanic's. It's making weird noises.” Nikki was wearing her favorite purple pj's and looked like a tall, lanky version of Lisa Simpson, with her short, spiky blond hair sticking out at all directions. I'd known Nikki since third grade, when she skated past my house, tripped and fell, and needed first aid. We'd been best friends ever since.

“I didn't even hear you get up,” I said, taking out the orange juice.

“You were snoring. No wonder Marco left so early.”

“Was not. I don't snore. Marco had work to do, is all.”

“Maybe it was me then.”

It wasn't often that Nikki and I saw each other at breakfast because I hit the sack early and she worked from three until midnight at the county hospital, where she was an X-ray technician. I'd lived with Nikki since I got booted out of law school, when I showed up at her door with only a suitcase full of clothing. I'd thought my dramatic exit from law school was the worst thing to happen to me until my then fiancé, Pryce Osborne II, dumped me
for
getting booted out of school.

It had been a rough year.

But then Nikki had opened her home to me, and we'd been great roomies ever since. Now that was coming to an end, because after the wedding next Saturday, I'd be moving in with Marco, and Nikki would have her spare room back. And as much as I couldn't wait to get married, there was a part of me that dreaded leaving the cozy two-bedroom where Nikki and I had shared good times and bad. I was leaving a part of me behind that I'd never get back.

I put a piece of bread in the toaster and pushed the lever down just as my cell phone rang. I picked it up, checked the screen, and said cheerfully, “'Morning, Marco.”

Nikki gave me a wave, so I said, “Nikki says hi.”

“Hi, back,” he said. “Listen, I just talked to Reilly, so I thought I'd share the news with you now. The coroner's preliminary findings lists multiple bite marks on the victim's legs, but the cause of death seems to be a broken neck. That's all he could tell me so early into the investigation, but it's enough to get going.”

“But does that mean Bev was murdered?”

“It doesn't indicate it by cause of death alone, just by circumstance. It appears that Bev may have crawled up the fence of the exercise pen to get away from the dogs, then fell from some height. I'm going to make an educated guess and say that they're going to call it manslaughter. So let's start interviewing at lunch today—if you can get away from the shop.”

“Unless we get a sudden influx of orders, that shouldn't be a problem.”

“Okay, I'll pick you up at noon.”

The call ended and I stared at the phone for a second. Wow. Marco was all business. He hadn't even said good-bye. It was another of those moments that gave me pause.

“Who was murdered?” Nikki asked.

“The executive director of PAR, Beverly Powers.”

“That poor woman,” Nikki said, rinsing her plate at the sink.

“I know. She died in the prime of her life. And it happened while my mom was volunteering at the animal shelter. She found Bev's body.”

“Oh, your poor mom! I'm glad nothing happened to her.”

I hadn't even thought about something happening to my mom, but now that Nikki brought it up, it seemed more evident than ever that Bev had been the target, not that it had been a random attack.

“I've got to run,” Nikki said, “so catch me up on this later.”

•   •   •

When I walked into Bloomers, Grace was in the parlor behind the coffee counter preparing for the customers who would line up just before nine o'clock. The scone's flavor of the day depended upon her whim, and today I caught a whiff of almond.

Grace Bingham had been attorney Dave Hammond's secretary when I clerked for him during my one year of law school, but she had decided to retire about the time I bought Bloomers. Her retirement had lasted two weeks, when, bored to tears, she came to work for me. Running the parlor was a labor of love for Grace, which was fortunate since I couldn't afford to pay her much.

“Good morning, Grace,” I called, following my nose straight to the pile of delicious-looking scones on the counter.

“Good morning, love,” she said, looking up. “How are we today?” Grace had once been a nurse and still often talked in first person plural.

“We are gearing up for a murder investigation. You know the little matter my mom came to me about yesterday?”

“About the trouble with the PAR group?” Lottie asked, walking into the parlor. She had her arms full of daisies destined for the glass display case in the shop. “I heard on the radio that Bev Powers was found dead yesterday evening, and they're calling the death suspicious.”

“That's not all. My mom found her body.”

“Oh, the poor dear!” Grace cried, hands to her face. “How utterly dreadful for her. But how did she come to discover the body?”

“She volunteers at the animal shelter on Mondays,” I said. “It was after hours, and she and Bev were supposed to be the only two there, but someone forced Bev into an exercise pen with two dangerous dogs. It appears that she died trying to escape them.”

“The radio said the dogs mauled her,” Lottie said. “What a terrible way to die.”

For a moment none of us said anything, imagining the horror that Bev had experienced. After a sad sigh, Grace said, “I do hope they're not treating your mom as a suspect.”

“Not so far. Marco and I are starting a full-fledged investigation today to keep that from happening. No one is going to accuse my mom of anything but being a helpful citizen and calling in a crime.”

Grace cleared her throat and took hold of the sides of her jacket in what we called her lecture pose. “As that brilliant scholar William Jennings Bryan once said, ‘The humblest citizen of all the land, when clad in the armor of a righteous cause, is stronger than all the hosts of Error.'”

We clapped and she nodded regally. Grace was an amazing repository of quotations and took pride in having an appropriate quip for every occasion. I didn't always understand them, but I still appreciated her contributions.

“Sweetie,” Lottie said, “are you going to have time for a full-fledged investigation, what with your wedding coming up and all?”

“I've got everything under control on that front,” I assured her, “and I promise to keep the time that I'll be gone from the shop to a minimum.”

“Everything under control, huh,” Lottie snickered. “That's what you said about your bridal shower. Remember how that almost turned out?”

“But this time it's different. I really do have everything lined up for the wedding. I only have to go for a dress fitting and make my bouquet and Marco's and his groomsmen's boutonnieres, which will be a piece of cake. And I've got almost two weeks. My goal is to find out what happened to Bev by the end of this week.”

“Good luck with that,” Lottie said. “You know what happens when you make plans, right?”

“I know,” I said with a sigh. “It makes God laugh.”

“Speaking of your dress fitting,” Grace said, “a sales clerk from Betty's Bridal Shop called to remind you of your appointment. The memo is on your desk.”

“Perfect,” I said. “Really, Lottie, everything will be fine. We planned the wedding to be small and efficient so our families couldn't ruin it.”

“Speaking of trying to ruin your wedding,” Lottie said, “your cousin Jillian is coming over today. Want to lay bets what for?”

“Never mind Jillian,” Grace said. “Tell us more about Bev Powers's death.”

Over cups of coffee, I filled the women in on the details of the crime as I knew them; then we went our separate ways to get ready for the store opening. Back in my workroom, I had a chance to get online and read the full newspaper account, which the paper was already labeling a homicide. Unfortunately, the article also included my mom's name, so as soon as I saw it, I called their house to alert them.

“Hello, Abracadabra,” my dad said when he answered, using my childhood nickname. Apparently I had been good at disappearing when it was time for chores. “Yes, we saw the newspaper and yes, the phone has been ringing off the hook. Luckily for us, we have caller ID so I can screen the calls.”

“Good, Dad. Don't talk to any reporters either.”

“I was a cop, Ab. I know the drill. I just wish your mom felt better. She's still really upset, but she insisted on teaching school today. I hope she's not hounded by the media there.”

“If the reporters find out where she is, she probably will be. I'll send her a text message and tell her to alert the school administration of her situation so they can screen her calls there, too.”

“Thanks, honey. She'll appreciate it. Keep me posted of any updates, will you?”

I hung up just as the bell over the door jingled, signaling our first customer of the day. I waited for Lottie's cheerful greeting but heard nothing. Assuming she was on the phone taking an order, I listened for Grace's
halloo
, but again, all I heard was silence.

Unable to stand the suspense, I pulled back the curtain and saw Grace standing in the parlor doorway, hands to her face, and Lottie standing behind the cash counter, jaw dropped. And then I saw Jillian, my newly pregnant cousin, wearing a loose shirt with something the size and shape of a large cantaloupe tucked underneath.

“Ugh,” Jillian said, tossing back her long copper locks, “I've got to get off my feet. Carrying around five pounds isn't easy.”

“Jillian, what are you doing?” I asked, stepping into the shop.

“Rehearsing. Duh.” She waddled past me and disappeared behind the curtain.

I glanced at Grace, then at Lottie. Both stared at me in surprise, proving that Jillian had not lost her ability to shock and awe.

“Rehearsing?” Lottie whispered. “For a pregnancy?”

“This is Jillian, after all,” Grace said.

Jillian Knight Osborne was my only female cousin and as close as a sister. She was a year younger, a head taller, and twenty pounds lighter, plus she had a mere sprinkling of freckles instead of a waterfall like mine. But our differences didn't stop there. Unlike me, who'd had a distinctly middle-class childhood, Jillian had grown up in a humongous house, vacationed in exotic locales, and had a father who is a stockbroker and a mother who golfed daily.

About the only thing we had in common, other than our surnames, was that we were both business owners, Jillian's being a personal shopping service that she operated out of her apartment. It combined her two favorite activities, shopping and spending money.

I trailed after my cousin and found her perched on a wooden stool at the worktable. Always the fashionista, my cousin wore a roomy top in a pattern of big red poppies against a white background and black linen pants. She carried a red leather purse trimmed in black. The outfit looked terrific even with the huge bulge in front.

“Why do you have to rehearse? Can't you just let the pregnancy happen naturally?”

“Not according to the book I'm reading by Dr. Ben Baybee. He recommends a well-informed, well-rehearsed transition into motherhood. See? I've even started my wardrobe.” She lifted her top and showed me the maternity slacks she had on. Beneath the stretch fabric that covered her abdomen, I could see what appeared to be a small beach ball.

“That can't weigh five pounds,” I said, and pressed against the ball with my fingertip.

“It's not a beach ball. It's a rehearsal ball, and yes, it weighs five pounds. I had to order it from Dr. Baybee's Web site. Once I'm accustomed to this one, I graduate to the eight-pound, watermelon-shaped size.”

“Which you also have to order from his Web site, I'm betting. Are you sure this doctor is on the up-and-up?”

“He wrote a book, Abs. Of
course
he's on the up-and-up.” She cradled her hands beneath the bulge. “This ball makes my back ache. Maybe I should unstrap it for a while. Do you want to try it on? You're going to have children soon after you're married, right? I mean, at your age you can't afford to wait long.”